Justified Deception: Dancing Moon Ranch Series, #0

CHAPTER 1

Annie Kincaid stomped her small, bare foot against the ground and said, I don't want a nanny, and I won't do what she says!

Matt Kincaid clenched his jaws to keep from letting out an expletive. Look pal, don't jerk my chain. You're gonna have a nanny and you'll do what she says, and that's that. He knew his anger was aimed more at Annie's mother than Annie. Jody had been spoiled, self-centered and stubborn, and whenever Annie showed those traits it made him mad as a hornet.

He also didn't have the time or patience to deal with a stubborn six-year-old this particular afternoon. Finding someone willing to live at the ranch was tough enough. Keeping her on afterwards was damn near impossible. Annie could be a real pain in the butt when she wanted to get rid of a nanny. He also knew Annie might get her way this time. Of the women he'd interviewed, the first had fingernails chewed to the quick, the second wrung her hands through the entire interview, and the third was a mouse of a woman who stared at him, unblinking. Granted, he'd been hard on the women, but if they couldn't stand up to his interrogation they wouldn't survive Annie or the rugged, isolated existence of living on the Kincaid Ranch.

Annie glared up at him. I hate nannies, she said. They're bossy and stink like perfume. If you get me another nanny I'll jump in the bull pen and get stomped to little pieces.

Matt clenched his jaws. He refused to let a pint-sized prima donna manipulate him, but with less than twenty minutes before the arrival of Annie's next potential victim he'd have to change tactics. Softening his tone, he said, I can't be all things to you, honey. You're a little girl and you need a woman to see to your needs. He saw Annie's bottom lip quiver and knew he'd made some headway.

No one has to look after me, Annie lamented. I can look after myself.

Sorry, that's not an option, Matt said. When I'm out on the range you need a nanny. He glanced at his watch. Meanwhile, Miss Crawford's due here for her interview in twenty minutes and I promised to put together Aunt June and Uncle Bret's glider while we're here, but first, I want a smile and a hug. He crouched and opened his arms. An impish glimmer came into Annie's big blue eyes and she slipped her hands around his neck. That's my girl.

Matt cranked up the volume on his radio and grabbed the wrench he'd been using to assemble his sister-in-law's lawn glider, and Annie scrambled up the ladder leading to a tree fortress built over, around, and between the sturdy limbs of an ancient oak.

Twenty minutes later, Matt glanced up from his crouched position, startled to find a woman staring at him. He hadn't heard her arrive and had no idea how long she'd been there, which he concluded was probably often the case. If he were to describe the woman in one word, it would be, limpid. A plain woman with not a trace of lipstick on her prim, tight lips, she peered down at him through the lenses of wide round glasses. She wore her mouse brown hair caught in a knot on top of her head, and her shapeless frame was clad in a loose-fitting brown suit coat that hung over matching slacks. Serviceable brown shoes with broad flat heels completed her garb. A woman well into her thirties, she obviously had no desire to catch a man, which worked for him.

She offered her hand. Mr. Kincaid, I'm Ruth Crawford and I'm sorry I'm—

With a whoosh, something dropped from the boughs of the oak and glanced off the woman's head, drawing from her an audible gasp while dislodging the knot. She looked up, then repositioned the knot and impaled it with a wooden pin.

Matt scooped up a rubber chicken that lay at the woman's feet. Jaws clenched, he looked toward Annie's perch. The little twit was really testing him.

Miss Crawford, having recovered her composure, offered her hand again, this time somewhat tentatively, and said, I'm sorry I'm late. That rarely happens.

Matt glanced at his watch. Six minutes was hardly late. Still, he wouldn't let it pass. I hope you're right because my daughter needs structure. He wiped his palm on his jeans and shook the woman's hand, finding it moist and cold, which didn't surprise him. In fact, it would have shocked the hell out of him to find the woman's hand anything but cold. A hot little number, she was not. Please have a seat.

She sat on the edge of a lawn chair, feet together, hands folded across her leather shoulder bag, a sedate pose that whispered distinctly, do not touch. But she also looked practical, sensible and pragmatic, qualities that did nothing for him but would help keep Annie in check. She seemed to be studying him though, as if she were here to interview him.

He dragged a lawn chair over and sat opposite her. Now he'd see the kind of stuff Miss Ruth Crawford was made of. He had no intention of painting a rosy picture. He'd had his fill of nannies packing up and leaving with little more than a moment's notice.

Looking directly at the woman, he said, I'm going to lay it out for you, Miss Crawford. If you're looking for an easy job, this isn't the one for you. The Kincaid's a working ranch located in an isolated valley twenty miles from the nearest store so you can't run into town for every impulsive female whim you've a mind for, and my daughter's a scrapper. Annie's got a mind of her own, and she's independent as hell.

Holding his gaze, the woman said in a confident tone, I pride myself in being able to cope with difficult children.

Good, because you'll need all your skills to cope with Annie. She doesn't have a very high regard for mothers or mother substitutes.

The woman's inscrutable eyes unmasked momentarily. Did he glimpse despair in those eyes? Then it was gone.

As I said, Mr. Kincaid, I've handled difficult children. They're not a problem for me, she commented, her voice businesslike.

Unquestionably no-nonsense, Matt decided, and she reeked of self-control. Probably never had a fit of temper or uttered a cuss word in her life. Good. She wouldn't cave in to Annie's melodramas or manipulations. I assume you can ride.

Ride?

Horses. The Kincaid's spread over more than twenty-five-hundred acres of rugged terrain, much of it accessible only by horse. The woman's eyes sharpened, not so much in surprise, but something more akin to... Panic? You do ride don't you?

She blinked several times. Well, yes. I did once when I was a child.

Once! Oh geeze!

I'm a fast learner, she said. If you're willing to give me some instruction, I'm willing to learn. I'm not afraid of horses. I assume that's half the battle.

Okay, if you hire on I'll give you four days. You'll work with your horse from the ground up—do the feeding and grooming, clean its hooves, tend your own tack—and if you fall on your butt you'll be expected to pick yourself up and get back on. You'll roll into bed bone tired and wake up aching from head to toe. I'm not meaning to scare you, but if you don't learn to ride fast, Annie will leave you in a cloud of dust. Besides, if you don't know horses, you and Annie won't bond.

Ruth Crawford's lips parted and fell into a downward curve, and behind the round lenses of her glasses, Matt saw sad brown eyes that glistened with unshed tears. Though nothing about the woman attracted him, he had an illogical urge to hold her in his arms, like comforting a lost child. Then with a mercurial shift of mood, the woman blinked away the sadness, the corners of her mouth lifted, and she said, I assure you, I'll be riding satisfactory within the week.

Yeah, well, we'll see. Any questions?

Am I supposed to cook or clean?

Nope. We have Edith for that. You just look after Annie. Anything else?

No.

Then the job's yours if you still want it.

Yes, yes I do. She smiled then, her first real smile, and Matt noted two small dimples in her cheeks. Appealing little dimples that made years vanish from her face. He made a vow to coax that smile from her often. Thank you, Mr. Kincaid.

Honey, just call me Matt.

Yes, well, thank you, Matt.

Right. And one thing more. Annie will be homeschooled. Can you handle that?

Homeschooled? A look of alarm crossed the woman's face, and her smile faded, replaced by wariness. Is there a reason why? she asked.

Sure, Matt replied, the ranch is located miles from the school.

It's my understanding that there's school bus service, she countered.

There is, Matt said, but for the first couple of years I've decided to keep Annie home. Would that be a problem for you?

Well, no, the woman replied. I'm certain I could manage her studies.

Good. Since that's decided, it's time you met Annie. He looked up at the tree fortress and caught a glimpse of a young, sassy face before Annie ducked out of sight. He should climb up there and tan her little bummer for dropping the rubber-chicken. Instead, he stood at the base of the tree and called up, Annie, get your fanny down here and meet your new nanny.

Annie, fanny, nanny. Annie, fanny, nanny, she mimicked in a sing-song voice.

Don't push my buttons pal. Do as I say.

A very strident young voice bellowed down from the boughs of the tree, "I don't want a nanny and I'm not coming down!"

Matt looked askance at Ruth, and said, Go on inside and have a cup of coffee. The pot's on the stove. I'll bring Annie in and you two can meet and get acquainted.

Ruth's lips parted as if to respond, then she nodded vaguely and turned away.

***

As Ruth walked toward the house, the realization that in moments she might come face to face with her own little Beth hit her, and everything about that horrifying day, five years before, came rushing back. The shock, the hysteria, the helplessness, the waiting, the fear of leaving home because she might miss a call from the police. The fear of getting a call from the police. And the terrible, ever present guilt. If only she hadn't left Beth with a babysitter. If only the babysitter hadn't left Beth alone in a playpen for an instant while she answered the phone. A playpen in a fenced yard. In their own front yard. If only the clock could be turned back.

If only... if only... if only...

By the time she reached the house, Ruth was so lightheaded she had to lean against the door for support, but after the dizziness passed, she willed herself to again take on the demeanor of the nanny she held herself out to be, the nanny Matt Kincaid just hired. That woman was calm, collected, in control. A woman able to cope with difficult children.

She'd come prepared for that possibility.

It all started when Bill McFadden, her private investigator, sat at a table with Matt Kincaid and several other strangers at a political rally for Matt's brother, a state senator. During that time, a little girl with a striking resemblance to the computerized face Bill made that advanced Beth from a 1-year-old into a 6-year-old, rushed up to Matt, who was clearly her father. What struck Bill was that the child even had a small ragged scar on her chin, just as Beth had.

After the little girl rejoined her friends, Bill learned, from the conversation between Matt and two others at the table, that Matt was a single father who'd be running a newspaper ad for a live-in nanny and returning to Salem the following week to interview applicants. But what caught and held Bill's attention was that Matt's daughter was adopted, and because his ranch in southeast Oregon was so isolated, and the child so unruly, nannies didn't stay long.

Was her little Beth a difficult child now, and had Matt Kincaid made her that way? If, in fact, Annie Kincaid was Beth. The possibility was very real. This had been their best lead yet, and for some reason, Matt Kincaid wanted his daughter homeschooled... Maybe so he could keep her away from authorities who might learn the truth? Learn she wasn't Annie Kincaid, but instead, a little girl named Beth Simpson who'd been abducted five years before?

In due course she'd find out, but for the moment she'd set aside Matt Kincaid's reason for keeping his daughter out of school and focus on the plan she'd set in place, a plan in the face of warnings from both her parents, who worried that Matt Kincaid could be a dangerous man. But she couldn't sit back and wait through what could be a very lengthy investigation into the man's background and the circumstances surrounding the adoption of his daughter, when a few weeks as the child's nanny might end her search and she'd have her daughter back.

She stepped into the kitchen and scanned the surroundings. The presence of a child was everywhere—a scattering of broken crayons beside a coloring book, a plate with a half-eaten jelly sandwich, a plastic cup with a coiled plastic straw.

She walked over to the refrigerator and studied the photos attached to the door with magnets. One showed Annie sitting on her father's shoulders. Another displayed her father holding a horse while Annie stood with her arms out, balancing on the horse's back. There was also one with Matt Kincaid crouched behind Annie, who held a winner's ribbon, a proud smile on her face, and in a larger photo, Annie was slung over her father's shoulders like a sack of grain, with Annie making a silly face at the camera.

As Ruth studied the photos, one thing stood out above all else. Annie and Matt Kincaid looked truly happy together, as if no one mattered but each other.

Ruth was about to turn from the refrigerator when a magnetic frame with a head-and-shoulders image of Annie caught her up short. Unzipping her shoulder bag, she retrieved a computerized image that morphed Beth's one-year old face into that of a six-year-old girl and held it up to the photo in the frame. Her gaze shifted between the two. The curly ash-brown hair, the cleft in the chin, the almond-shaped blue eyes... The likeness, right down to the scar on her chin, was more than uncanny. Annie Kincaid had to be Beth. Ruth knew it in her heart, and on some higher plane, she knew it in her soul.

She felt prickles of pain in her hand and realized she'd been clenching her fist so tightly her fingernails had impressed half-moons into her palm, but the pain was mild compared to the deep, heartfelt fear that, even with everything pointing to this child being Beth it could yet be another false lead. She closed her eyes.

Please God, don't let me down again. Let this child be Beth.

Not Beth. Annie. This child is named Annie. Annie Kincaid.

Ruth started trembling and hot tears welled. She patted her cheeks and blinked away the tears, then silently practiced her opening words. 'Hello, Annie, I'm pleased to meet you. I'm certain we'll get on fine. Please call me...' Always she stumbled here. Since the kidnapper could be familiar with the name, Jennifer Simpson, using her middle name, Ruth, and her mother's maiden name, Crawford, was a compromise.

Returning the computerized image to her handbag, she glanced out the window and saw Annie making her way down the tree ladder. When her foot hit the ground, Matt snagged her by the arm and headed toward the house.

Before Ruth could remind herself to take a deep breath and stay calm, Matt walked through the door with the child tugging against his grip. As Ruth stood, silent and rigid and clinging to the strap of her shoulder bag, Matt nudged the sun-kissed, slip of a child toward her.

Ruth's throat tightened, and when she tried to speak, words wouldn't come. Nor could she take her eyes off the small scar that followed the line of the child's jaw, a scar about where Beth's would have been. For an instant, everything in the room faded. Only the compelling blue eyes staring back at her seemed to exist, as if she and the child were frozen in time, and as she held that unwavering gaze, she searched for some sign of recognition in the child's eyes, but all she found was hostility.

Forcing a smile that felt as stiff as it was feigned, she said, Hello, Annie, I'm pleased to meet you.

Annie's brows gathered in a frown, and for an instant Ruth was certain she'd detected bafflement in those eyes, but the moment was fleeting, and Ruth wondered if she'd simply deluded herself into seeing something that wasn't there.

Matt nudged Annie. Mind your manners, bucko. Say hello to Miss Crawford.

Annie pinned Ruth with a cold glare, shot a defiant look at her father, and said, I don't want a stupid nanny, then fled through the open door and never looked back.

Ruth stared after her, feeling confused and uncertain. During the terrible empty years without Beth she'd held onto the hope of this moment, to the dream of a tearful, joyous reunion, of taking Beth in her arms and holding her for dear life, and now, if the moment had come and gone, she could never have prepared herself for this kind of reception from a child who might be her daughter. Complete aversion.

Matt looked at Ruth and shrugged. Nannies aren't her favorite people.

And her mother? Ruth asked. Does Annie see her frequently?

Annie's mother isn't a part of Annie's life, Matt said in a tone that told Ruth the discussion was over. Which made Ruth even more determined to learn why Matt Kincaid had sole custody of his daughter. Bill had not been able to glean that information, but he had pointed out the power in the Kincaid family when he'd first begun piecing things together.

Kincaid's the son of a judge, the youngest of four boys, he'd said. One brother's a high-powered attorney, one's a state senator, and another's attorney general. Seems Matt Kincaid's the maverick in the family, left home when he was sixteen and moved around, hiring on as a ranch hand, married a rancher's daughter, divorced her, and ended up with the ranch and sole custody of their daughter. Obviously used his family's influence to come out on top.

Ruth looked at Matt Kincaid, and said, Annie must feel somewhat insecure living on an isolated ranch with only one parent.

Matt gave a short, ironic laugh. Annie's about as insecure as a rutting bull. She's got more family at the ranch than she knows what to do with, and she knows the only way she'd ever be separated from me would be over my cold, dead body. If anyone's insecure it's me. Without Annie, there wouldn't be much meaning to my life, something someone without kids wouldn't understand. Just take my word for it.

Ruth clenched her jaws to keep from screaming, how dare you say I don't know how much meaning a child can bring to a person's life, or how meaningless life can be without her.

Matt smiled a slow, contemplative smile. There's no question, Annie's the best thing that ever happened to me.

In that moment, Ruth knew Matt Kincaid would go to any length to hold and protect his child, and at this point, she couldn't be absolutely certain that Annie wasn't his child, just as she couldn't be sure the little girl was Beth, but time would tell. If Annie was Beth she'd have a past that didn't include Matt Kincaid. Photographs from birth to one year old would be missing. So, inquiring about pictures of Annie as a baby would be one of her first objectives. Locating Annie's birth certificate and adoption papers would be another. For now, she'd still cling to hope.

If Annie was Beth, the worst of her fears would be dispelled. Beth had not been snatched by a sexual predator, or a child killer, or a deranged woman desperate for a child. She'd been cared for by a devoted father who'd lay down his life for her, a man with the money and wherewithal to take the child he claimed was his and hide where they'd never be found, and Ruth didn't question for a moment that Matt Kincaid would do precisely that, if boxed into a corner.

We'll be flying to Burns in the morning, Matt said.

Ruth looked up from her distracted thoughts. So soon? She'd have no time to get the DNA kits before leaving. Bill only recently brought up the idea of DNA self-collection tests, in the event she got the nanny job and would have access to the child.